


Not That Clawful

by CravenWyvern



Series: Previously Punned [4]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Changes In Human Anatomy, Gen, Kind of AU, Meaning Weird Claws, Mentions of Dissection, Slight Panic Attack, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 06:44:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9422957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: Wilson P. Higgsbury used to have normal human hands.For some reason or another, this has changed.





	

So…this was a little concerning.

It started as a normal morning. Get out of the tent, do a quick survey of camp, make breakfast, feed the bird, get tools and emergency supplies ready and put on the backpack. From there, he'd be winging it based on how supplies looked and what project he was working on next.

Except…except today, he was stopped right after feeding his bird. Nothing wrong with the avian, it took the seeds he had on hand and then amused itself with twittering as loudly as it possibly could. No, it was more about what was wrong with Wilson himself.

More specifically, what was wrong with his hands. 

Wilson hadn't even taken the time to sit on the log bench properly, instead having practically collapsed into the dew soaked grass right in front of the bird cage. A part of him remembered that he'd have to replace it soon; the rust was slowly overtaking it and who knew what was trying to grow on the bottom of the stand. 

The rest of him was more focused on examining his hands, and, to an extent, his arms. Wilson carefully wiggled each finger, looked at them very closely as the bones and muscles and tendons moved together to create a smooth motion, then observed the palms and backs of his hands, how his knuckles stuck out and how thin and boney his wrist was. They looked okay to him, though a bit scrawny and weak, besides the fact that they were obviously not human hands.

More claws than anything, Wilson decided after a moment. His skin was blackened, as if he had suffered a terrible fiery accident, but that would have been terribly painful and when was the last time he had stuck his hands into such an element?

It didn’t even feel normal. After a moment of hesitation, Wilson reached up to touch his neck, to feel how his skin was under his, well, claws. The texture…

He quickly pulled his claws away, swallowing thickly and staring blankly down. His fingernails…practically nonexistent. Instead, it was as if the very bones of his hand grew out into points, his skin pulled back and leaving the blackened bone without a covering. He slowly, hesitantly poked his other arm with his index finger extended, just a quick experiment-

And yes, ow, that hurt. Nothing changed on his offended arm, though the pain was startling enough that his arm had spasmed and he had curled his hand into a fist. He could feel the – his – claws digging into the palm of his hand, sharp and sensitive.

Wilson quickly relaxed his hand, a wave of nausea rolling in his gut. His throat felt thick, light headed for a moment as he stared at his claws. His breakfast was threatening to come back up, and a part of him realized that that'd be bad, he'd be wasting food, vomiting was painful and he didn't want that to happen, he hated when that happened-

Wilson was able to turn away and lean before he started to retch. 

It took a moment, of breathing in deeply and feeling disgusting, trembling and trying not to wet his lips because no, no no, he hated throwing up, he hated it, he hated it, he hated it, gross, painful, hate hate hate hate-

Wilson hissed in a breath of air, pushing himself back from the mess he had made, feeling his hands – no, claws – dig into the grass and dirt, scrambling a few feet away before just staring blankly off into the distance, trying to catch his breath and not feel, not think-

Except he couldn't, he could not shut off his brain, this almost excited buzzing in his head, because how did this happen, when did this happen, why did it happen, what exactly happened in the first place-

Why was he so bothered by it? Shouldn't he be excited or at least curious, shouldn't he want to do a deeper examination, really look at his new hands-

But when Wilson actually examined something new, something biological that shouldn’t exist, he usually dissected it. He wouldn’t be dissecting his own arms however, of course not, except at the same time his fingers were itching to do it, to peel blackened skin away and see any changes to the bone, look at the insides of his palm and how the veins were grown and why his bones kept growing at the tips and did his bones even have marrow or something else entirely-

Wilson shuddered, suddenly feeling very overwhelmed. He clasped his claws together, pulling them up to his chest, suddenly very fearful of his thoughts. He wanted to do it, really wanted to dig in and look, because why? What happened? What caused this? What did his hands look like under his skin-

The bird chirped at him, black beady eyes staring down at him in curiosity. It fluffed up for a moment, shifting its weight back and forth before settling again. Wilson watched it, rubbing his claws together and feeling them, the bone nerveless but his skin so, so sensitive. 

How did he miss this? Was he just tired? Yes, he had a bad habit of not sleeping at all, and it had started to get at him, the sounds at night insistent and moaning voices that demanded his attention, but that couldn’t have caused this. Lack of sleep did not change the physiological structure of a human being.

(Was he even human any more…?)

Wilson tried to think back, to yesterday and the day before and the day before. Did his hands seem off then? This couldn’t have been overnight, this took time, to have his bones grow in such a specific way.

…Wilson couldn’t remember. He had no recollection of abnormalities in his hands at all, or ever actually looking at his hands at any time. This was concerning.

After another few minutes rubbing his claws together and feeling them, the bone slide on bone and his skin hitching and then dragging roughly over skin, palms and knuckles brush together effortlessly and almost like sandpaper, zoning out on the textures and sensations and sliding into semi calmness before-

Before the bird chirped at him again. It was high pitched, just a normal call, but it snapped him out of it and he pulled his claws apart, something heavy and dull feeling sliding into his chest. He had things he had to do today. He could not waste precious sunlight playing with his new…claws.

Later, Wilson decided. He'd figure it all out later, when he didn't feel like throwing up again and he had extra time.


End file.
